A/N: I kind of dread writing anything action-oriented, and because of that, I decided to skim over some of the action that takes place in the first part of this chapter. I tend to shy away from writing violence, not because I'm particularly biased against it, but I'm more skilled at writing dialogue and social interaction. So, I do apologize for any rookie errors in this chapter, it's just not my strong point. Hoover Dam will be ridiculously difficult for me if I haven't improved until then.
We are now on part two of 'DIA', and this first chapter entails Eris' meeting with the Boomers at Nellis. All those new people are likely pretty interesting to this curious, precocious girl, I imagine. But I doubt a character like Eris would enjoy being ordered around and sent to the bottom of a lake (literally) to gallivant, unless it was an order from Mr. House, because she could probably use it as leverage for later.
Also, the second half (more like 3/4) of this chapter includes Mr. House's perspective, and his seedy dealing with the Omertas.
I chose this song as a theme for this chapter, because it reminds me of psychosis somehow. Anytime it comes on in-game, it makes me feel like I'm falling deeper and deeper into primal chaos.
How lucky can one guy be?
I kissed her and she kissed me
Like a fella once said, ain't that a kick in the head?
My head keeps spinning, I go to sleep and keep grinning
If this is just the beginning, my life is gonna be beautiful!
-Ain't That a Kick in the Head, Dean Martin
The vast majority of men and women fail to notice the subtle sounds in their environment. A machine or instrument is nearly always humming in the background, lowly or ear-piercingly. In effect, their use of the word silence was rendered redundant by the existence of these tiny noises constantly fighting to pollute the auditory peace around them. Silence was rare, and so very underappreciated. At all times, man cannot contain himself from turning a stereo on, lighting a fire, or humming. For him, not hearing the sounds of life are distressing and.. uncomfortable.
Eris was, for lack of a better word, uncomfortable. Despite embodying the stereotype of the 'action woman', she couldn't seem to find a philosophical or even self-preservative excuse for dodging howitzers. Like so many humans, she failed to notice or appreciate little background noises that allowed for the facade of silence, only noticing sound when it was loud or deafening. And if she didn't move through this field quick, she might be temporarily deaf. She was already a brain damage patient, she didn't need more tallies for disabilities, though she was certain House would go easy on her if she went deaf in service to him. He did mention employee benefits not too long ago. Maybe a raise could do?
No, a raise wouldn't do, because he knew she didn't care about wealth. Still, he would verbally spar with her for this, and if she didn't hear repentance in his voice, she might just take a page out of Diogenes of Sinope's book. But that didn't work out either, because he never wrote a book.
BOOM! she heard as she instinctively ducked. She scorned those who proudly boasted of their primate instincts, but now she could see how they had their uses. Were these cats ever going to let up? She felt like Jesus on the cross here, except she didn't really care much for the end result of her sacrifice.. Scratch that entire simile, because if she was Jesus, then House was God, and that didn't sit well with her. She always identified more with Greco-Roman heroes of legend anyway, they had a few more notches on their proverbial pistol. This must be the Boomers' idea of fun, and honestly, she couldn't blame them. Explosives looked incredibly fun for the experienced wastelander with a keen eye, but she was not experienced and she was not physically perceptive.
Little did Eris know that the party was just getting started, because about 3 sets of gunshots whirred past her head, followed by about five consecutive howitzer explosions. And of course, there was a minefield. She was thankful that she decided to wear khaki shorts instead of long pants, because all she needed to do was tiptoe around the minefield, all the while blowing the little blonde wisps that occasionally blocked her peripheral vision.
She would write a thesis about why howitzers should be deleted from the Wasteland, if she returned to Vegas. Then, she'd write an antithesis about how they're actually kind of exhilarating to avoid, because she was getting pretty mixed feelings about the whole thing. Of course, this all relied on if she returned to Vegas whole, and not as little pool of blonde goo. But if she was being totally and completely honest, which was rare, she'd probably do this again in a heartbeat. Because speaking of heartbeats, hers was really pumping. Adrenaline could be an amazing high, so much more useful than alcohol or morphine, both of whom could get the party started but couldn't clean up the mess afterward - literally and figuratively.
After a few more moments of shrapnel and missed gunshots, finally there was a gate with barbed wiring lining the upper parts. Suddenly, the firing stopped and she assumed they may have realized their hard work may have been all for nought. She wasn't here for a fight, though that didn't sound like such a bad idea now that she considered it fully. Eris rolled her eyes at the antics of these people, impressed with the firepower but annoyed with the lack of civility.
A man stood at the wire gate, with some kind of energy gun readied on top of his shoulder. Eris wasn't an expert on weapons, so she assumed it was something pre-war military. She folded her arms at the silly looking man with the army hat on, and waited for him to either speak or take his shot. Quite frankly, she was tired of running.
"Hold it right there! Don't you move!" The man - boy - said, expecting her to take him seriously with such a stupid looking hat on his head.
Comically, she raised her hands and got on her knees, looking up at the boy, who didn't seem much older than her. She shrugged after a few moments of him gaping at her on the ground, looking at him quizzically. Like there was a glitch in his programming, he stuttered for a moment, but began talking.
"How the hell did you survive that bombardment?" He asked. She readied herself for some kind of witty reply, but found she had none.
"It's all in the movements, see. Dodge, run, dodge, sweat, scream, dodge, run. In no specific order, really. Can you tell me who the movers and shakers are here?" She asked.
"I'm not telling you anything, savage! Move a muscle, and I swear I'll blow you to pieces!" He yelled, his voice breaking slightly. She laughed, but didn't move - his gun was bigger than hers, after all.
"Go ahead then, if that's what makes your day. Or not, if you're too pussy."
He braced himself again, but still did nothing, gritting his teeth in a most weak display of intimidation. Even just one of House's rants would've scared the general populace more than this poor guy did. Actually, one of House's rants and the most scathing way he called you 'worthless' or 'useless' would be enough to cause even the Legion's fearsome legate to turn tail and run to the hills.
When nothing happened, she rolled her eyes and spoke up, breaking the now tense and annoying silence.
"Really, you have no logical reason to fear me. I didn't come here to attack you or any of your people. I came to talk. No strings attached." She said, then added lowly, "kind of."
The boy slouched a bit in relief, but straightened back up, saying, "Then just - just stay where you are! Raquel'll be here any second."
Eris waited for a few moments, now back on her feet and lighting up a cigarette, which may have been a foolish idea out in the middle of a minefield. But she wanted to be renowned for ideas - both foolish and genius, and so she continued on, inhaling deeply and blowing it sideways. The crunch of footsteps grew nearer, and it must've been Raquel. Raquel was looking worse for wear, like she'd rather be doing anything else. Of course, Eris would probably feel the same if she lived in a hokey place like this, isolated from the excitement of civilization and its fruits, both rotten and engorged.
"I'll take this from here." The older woman, Raquel, said to the young guard. Then, she turned to her. "I'm Raquel, Master-at-Arms for the Nellis homeland. Mother Pearl, our eldest, wishes to speak with you."
"Well, then. Mother Pearl's wish is my... strong recommendation." Eris replied, thinking she must've been the wittiest person out in the wastes.
Raquel crossed her arms and raised her chin, but otherwise her facial expression hadn't changed. A hint of a grin came up to Eris' face then at the sight of Raquel clearly unimpressed with her. What the hell was wrong with these people? They must really be suppressing their deepest and most hidden desires out here. She hypothesized that all these 'Boomers' secretly had an outsider fetish.
"Follow close, and mind your attitude." The older woman said, looking like she was about to frown but she already had a frown by default plastered on her face.
"I'll be on my best behavior, miss."
So she followed Raquel, taking in the sight of the Nellis base. It really was a sweet setup, and she could almost understand why the Boomers had a need for so much firepower. Although Eris lacked the mind for strategy that someone like Caesar or Mr. House possessed, she could easily see the tactical advantage a group like the Boomers had in this heavily fortified airforce base. They had the advantage of high ground, concrete and metal walls, and it looked like they also had power.
When Raquel led her to a little metal hut, Eris breathed in and sighed, maybe a bit dramatically. The things I do for - she frowned slightly when she realized she didn't exactly know what she was doing this for. It seemed the reasons were changing constantly.
Robert House may have been many things during his time here, but impatient was not one of them. Years of plotting his return and the revival of the Las Vegas Strip had planted a seed of patience in him unlike anything else ever had before. Of course, in the past he'd had mortality and disease to worry about, and thus couldn't afford patience when he was gambling with borrowed time. Nearly everything he did, he did with precise timing and calculation.
He took almost no action on a whim, unlike his younger days when he'd occasionally give in to the excesses of Vegas and debauch, most especially when he was on edge about some patent or the public prying into his private life. Years of experience with shady deals involving degenerates not unlike the tribals now occupying his casinos and hotels, as well as military personnel, such as in the case of the American military mass purchasing his assaultrons and the request that he design Liberty Prime, left him quite practiced in the old world and the new.
So when the Omertas arrived at their usual meeting location with him on time, Robert knew something was at stake here. The securitron whose body Robert was now monitoring and speaking through rolled backwards, away from the door to allow the two Omertas in. Nero tipped his hat at his usual (yet undesirable) securitron form, and Big Sal smiled a crooked grin, sporting yellowed teeth as he greeted him. Robert sneered partially at the attempted display of civility, and partially at the rather blatant display of uncharacteristic friendliness. Robert trusted his calculations, yes, but alongside his calculations were his hunches which had so far served him usefully.
He observed them for a few moments, his still face luckily not giving away the disgust he had for these libertines. While Vegas thrived off of the vanity and gluttony of individuals, Robert had no love of partaking in it himself. The tourists of Vegas were useful tools to build a shining beacon among a sea of decay and stagnation, though. In an ideal world, that is, in the world which existed only inside of his head, men and women would be studied and more selective about when they allowed themselves to disinhibit. Self-discipline was the first, but only one of many, stepping stones to success, after all. And that was why these former tribals and tourists would always be small-time. Being both capricious and having no ability to see clearly the vision which was larger than themselves, this would likely always be their existence.
Finally, after a few moments, he spoke.
"Gentlemen. Please sit, if you would." His coldly polite voice filled the otherwise silence room.
"Mr. House. Always a pleasure to get a message from you. We came as soon as we could, at your convenience, of course." If he was currently corporeal, he would've rolled his eyes at the artless flattery.
Weren't these the former 'Slitherkin' who were so very well-known for their trickery? But perhaps... no. He would have plenty of time to calculate their chances of rebellion later. It was a tactless play to show any sign of suspicion.
"Of course." His tone conveyed nothing except professionalism, an art which was lost in this wasteland, so it seemed. "I went over your last report very thoroughly, and while I found no fault in thirty-four out of thirty-six of your family's purchases, there was one discrepancy that caught my eye. It seems that your family has been investing thousands of caps in tapestries. Does that sound correct?"
Nero and Big Sal shared a look that lasted less than a second, but the securitron's keen sensory devices was able to observe it. Remotely, Robert watched the moment over several times while the Omertas worked to form a response. He would analyze that in more depth later. The small, humorous part of him wanted to condescend about them smuggling humans out in sack cloths, but he doubted they were educated enough to understand that particular reference. Perhaps Caesar would?
Big Sal spoke up for Nero after a few seconds, "That sounds right, boss. We got a complicated client staying in one of our suites right now. He's a very discriminating customer. I'm sure you can understand."
Robert knew immediately that Big Sal was being truthful, but he still felt a strong hunch towards this particular truth having a nefarious twist. Using the truth to deceive would've been ironic for anyone except the Omertas. And while he was accustomed to dealing with their half-truths and underhanded methods of financial gain, this half-truth was different.
"If push comes to shove, you can have the guy looked into. You know, follow him around a little bit. But he's paying big caps to us for this suite, which means big caps for you. We'd hate to turn down a chance to profit, boss." Big Sal finished his hasty sentence with another of his crooked grins, and if there was any moment Robert wished for corporeality and youthfulness, if only to sneer, it was now.
"Who said anything about an investigation, Mr. Sal? I'd like to believe I am secure in my faith towards your ability to keep an eye on your clientele. Or am I wrong in placing Gomorrah in your family's hands?" He asked, causing Big Sal to sit a bit straighter in his chair. Nero licked his lips, but said nothing, observing his right hand with something akin to hope.
Remaining blunt and only a touch hostile with the Omertas was prudent, for if he neglected to lay out his rules in a clear and concise manner, they would quickly weasel themselves into the nearest gray area, where they would nest and sprout seditious notions, like they were probably doing right now. There was no rule, after all, concerning a demanding client who had an obscure fondness for what must've surely been hundreds of tapestries. There would be a rule, now.
"Not wrong at all, boss. We got everything under control. We'll tell him we can't abide by his tastes-"
"You'll do no such thing." Robert cut in. "Your contract doesn't involve you mingling in the affairs of clients unless there is a clear evidence of misconduct that can be proven by the contractor to me. I see nothing suspicious in his behavior, and I refuse to delve into what our clientele decorate their walls with. We don't delve into their private lives, Mr. Sal. Now unless you're illiterate, which regrettably for me, is a possibility, you know this. What I propose, instead, is a clear list of merchants you're purchasing from - a precise ledger. The numbers will tell me all I need to know without having to have an unfortunate situation like what we're having here. Is that understood?"
Both Nero and Big Sal nodded, their expressions not telling of what they were really up to, but he would find out. Oh, he would, and whatever juvenile plot the Omertas were planning under his nose would be drawn out like poison from a pus-filled wound.
"Now, I assume the two of you are aware of what a ledger is without my supervision?" Again, the two nodded, and he continued. "Very well. I expect a full list of purchases, sellers, and prices. At the end of every week, one of your men will deliver the ledger to one of the two securitrons guarding the doors to the Lucky 38. It's a Tuesday now, which means I will need the report on the Tuesday next. There will be no exceptions to this. I will calculate the numbers to verify if your purchases are legitimate. If I find they are not, you will pay for it. And I do mean that literally - you will pay for the difference out of your own coffers."
"We wouldn't dream of crossing you this far into the game, Mr. House. How would that profit any of us? The notion makes me sick to my stomach. We've been pallies for awhile now, House. Relax. We'll take care of the situation, and you'll get your weekly ledger - no shady shit. Trust us." Nero finally spoke. If Robert could crook his brow properly, he would've surely done so just now. Normally, Nero let Big Sal take metaphorical bullets for him, which worked for the Omertas considering their primitive, tribal loyalty to one another.
"As my employee of nearly four years now, you should know that my preferred method of conducting business isn't in trust, but in numbers. Your attempt to win my trust is futile, at best. I only care about results, Mr. Nero. And results I shall have." He paused for a moment, making sure the message was there without raising suspicion about his suspicion. "Your contract is lenient but straightforward in its details, refer to it again if they've lost traction in your operations. Now, I think business is concluded. Report to my securitrons if you have any further questions. I will answer them all if it means I have functional employees."
They left after saying their 'respects', and Robert left the securitron he was monitoring to its duties. Remotely, he surveyed the Strip and its entrance. Still, there was no sign of his newest, and thus far, most reliable, employee. She'd been gone for weeks now - three weeks, exactly. This was a week or so longer than he was comfortable with. He needed her back in Vegas by the end of the week if he were to make any progress on the Omertas.
Currently, he was working on a cerebral map of what direction the Omertas were going in with their little scheme. Perhaps they were deliberately acting suspicious so that it would raise his suspicions, forcing him to take action against something he perceived as misconduct when there was no misconduct involved, which violated his terms of their contract? No.. the Omertas were up to something more sinister than something that would amount to a small inconvenience for him. Although it was not within his rights to investigate their private dealings, he did have other means to accomplish his aims.
His calculations proved a 75% chance of illicit sexual trafficking, which was not an unusual number for the Omertas, so he ignored that one. Another, he found, proved a 42.7% chance of illicit drugging of clientele, which was as seedy and distasteful as the last, but again nothing he could do about. For now.
The most alarming of his calculations showed a 59.8% chance of arms purchases through a tribal vendor. This was exactly the information he needed to go forward with his plan. For too long, had the Omertas plotted behind his back, thinking he was none the wiser. Simply put, the former Slitherkin, much like their namesake, couldn't be allowed to walk ten feet without a leash securely tied around their necks.
Instinct informed him that their ludicrous purchasing of tapestries was merely a cover for arms purchases, for there was no reality he was aware of where the value of cloth was equivalent to a machine gun. Textiles were an abundant commodity in this region.
It was nothing he was beaming about, however. Always, he had been a believer in the liberty of others, and to remove it brought him no joy. He was not a fascist tyrant, that title belonged to Caesar. Of course, this was his city, and it was within his liberties to govern what was allowed within. Out of his entire tribal workforce, the Omertas were the most demanding. They almost never took 'no' for an answer, often arguing to his face, or rather, monitor, openly, while conducting their affairs in the shadows. Their suddenly compliant behavior spoke volumes.
No matter, though. He was already drawing up a plan for catching them in their doubtlessly amateur scheme. He'd been doing this for centuries, now. Did they really think they could get one by on him?
His newest protege, Eris, was skilled with people, not that he'd inform her of his thoughts on that. She would never let him live it down. He'd watched her oust the Omerta spy in The Tops a few weeks ago, and the petty, tribal squabble that had occurred afterward. It was skillfully done, though it wasn't calculated or planned. It was an impulsive move on her end, probably a human need for stimulation, of that much he was sure, and that made him all the more puzzled about the different angles available for managing his employees.
Though usually disinterested in the lives of his employees, he did make exceptions for those of whom he allowed within such private spheres of his life and vision. Thus far, Eris was the first in well over 200 years, which made her anomalous. Even after her delivery of the Platinum Chip and subsequently, its delivery again to his bunker at Fortification Hill, he remained unsure of her loyalty. Of course, it would be simple to only care for the results as per usual with all of his employees, but this partnership between he and Eris was a high stakes game. If she made a move against him, it would be effortless to remove her from the game altogether, but removing her meant replacing her, and that simply wasn't an option in the foreseeable future.
Unforeseeable for two reasons: one, being that she was articulate enough to follow an outline of instructions while improvising with a level of ingenuity he hadn't seen in an employee in ages. Two, there was no one he could trust in Vegas with such private matters, and the nearest 'allies' he had were buried in the ruins of CIT, thousands of miles east of Vegas. How he loathed projects which required the labor of sentient beings. Working with his robots was so much safer and more predictable. There were too many variables in human behavior to accurately predict the outcome of their actions.
Alongside his plan for Eris to somehow infiltrate Gomorrah and find information about the Omertas that he needed, he would also need to keep an eye on Eris' behavior. She was argumentative and flamboyant at the best of times, and annoyingly pedantic at the worst of times. He needed to monitor her closely when she infiltrated the Omertas, lest she mistake joining them in whatever plan they had as wise. Countless individuals were lured into that den of vipers. He couldn't have his protege fall prey to them and ruin everything, delaying his centuries' worth of plans.
So, another week passed with nothing interesting occurring, without any sight of Eris, until Wednesday morning, when she finally swaggered through the Strip, thankfully making a beeline toward the '38. But to his supreme aggravation, went to her suite before reporting directly to him.